The ‘Tails’ of Batdog and Wiener

(This story is dedicated to my corgi, Tucker, who died of cancer December 2009. Last fall when I was walking him, I had to use a flashlight and when the beam hit the back of his head, the shadow on the ground looked like the back of Batman’s mask. This led me to give him the nickname ‘Batdog’.)

These are the adventures of the brave corgi, Tucker, and his dachshund sidekick, Warner.

Their family sat in the living room one Thanksgiving day. The television tuned to the football games. Warner continuously leapt in front of the screen.

“Play with me! Play with me! Play with me!”

Tucker noised the remote, “Watch Batman! Watch Batman! Watch Batman!”

“Tucker! Warner! Go Play Outside!” James turned to his guests, “Anyone for black bean dip!”

The people cheered as their team made a touchdown. Warner whined and placed his tail between his legs.

“It is no use, Wiener. They are captives of the glowing box.”

“It’s Warner and what are you talking about, Tucker?”

“Don’t give my identity away, Wiener! The name is Batdog and danger is a foot!”

“Whatever, Batdog. I’m heading into the kitchen for a drink.”

Warner trotted with Tucker trailing behind him.

“I’m telling you, Wiener. Something is amiss.”

“It’s Warner!”

Suddenly, the oven flew open with fire and flame. The roasted turkey crawled through the smoke and ash.

“Holy Giblets, Batdog!”

“It’s the Gobbler!”

“Gobble, gobble.”

The turkey burst through the kitchen window.

“After Him!” Tucker barked.

Tucker and Warner charged through the doggy door, just in time to see the Gobbler turn a corner at the end of the street.

“Quick, Wiener! To the wag-on-mobile!”

Tucker placed his paw on a burnt out patch of lawn. The ground shifted. The lawn split, sinking into either side of itself. From the earth rose a Red-Radio Flyer.

“Come! We must save Barkcum City!”

Tucker laid his paw on the wagon’s control panel. A small turbo-charged engine lowered from the bottom of the wagon. It shot into motion, whizzing down the street in pursuit of the Gobbler.

Meanwhile, in the local frozen food section, the Gobbler desperately pushed one of his brothers from the freezer.

The Gobbler ran past Tucker and Warner as they charged. He started down the main street of Barkcum City with the dogs on his featherless tail. He rushed over a moat and raised the gate to his lair. He stared through the window of the door.

“Gobble, gobble, gobble.”

“He’s laughing at us, Wiener.”

“Really? How can you tell?”

Tucker scanned the scene to find a long handle at the top of the gate.

“Now what, Batdog?”

“We come up with a plan.”

Minutes later, Warner trotted toward Tucker with a turkey lacing kit in his mouth. He spat it onto the ground.

“I found this string thingee with these weird looking needles.”

“Perfect, we can use them as grappling hooks.”

“But, Batdog, how are we going to defeat the Gobbler once we’re inside?”

“Don’t worry. I brought the THE BASTER.”

Tucker took the string and needles and flung them up towards the handle above. They swung around, looping the bar.

“Alright, Wiener. When I say ‘now’, you will pull the gate down and I will charge in and grab the Gobbler.”

Warner took the strings, pulling them until the string became taut. Tucker leashed the baster around his back and prepared to pounce.

“NOW!”

The gate crashed over the moat as Tucker bounded into the lair. He grabbed the Gobbler by the breast meat and shook him furiously.

“TUCKER!”

James stared at the mess that was once his kitchen. Warner clung to the oven handle. Tucker released the roasted turkey, letting it fall to the floor.